


Bitty and the Beast

by MapleleafCameo



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety Attacks, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Bitty is a badass, Curses, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fear, Jack Needs a Hug, Jack is mean, M/M, hidden identity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:15:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27012616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleleafCameo/pseuds/MapleleafCameo
Summary: Through the halls of a neglected mansion, a beast roams, looking for someone to break his curse. And maybe feed him pie.
Relationships: Adam "Holster" Birkholtz/Justin "Ransom" Oluransi, Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Larissa "Lardo" Duan/Shitty Knight
Comments: 81
Kudos: 76





	1. In Which Eric Takes His Father's Place

Eric's leg jiggled up and down. He stared out the window of the car at nothing but trees, rocks and occasional glimpses of water. His insides jumbled and churned, and he found it increasingly harder to breathe. Coach drove and chewed at his moustache, guilt silencing him.

In her smug voice, the GPS told them to prepare to turn left onto a road barely visible from the highway. The road, barely a track, about as wide as the car and filled with potholes meandered through scrub, and tall grass began to take over. Very little light reached through the dense canopy overhead, giving everything a green hue. Anxiety, ever-present since Coach had returned home from his unfortunate trip, settled in Eric's chest a little more firmly. 

The trees began to thin, and more light streamed in. The road opened up a bit. Coach kept driving until they reached a large, ornate, wrought iron gate. Overgrown bushes, interspersed with tall weeds grew alongside, and thorny looking vines climbed up the fence, holding it in their spiked grasp. Beyond the fence, Eric could just make out a clearing and the roofline of an enormous house just as Coach had described. Bringing the car to a stop, Coach stared at the gate. He cleared his throat several times and tried to speak.

Eric placed his hand on his arm.

"Coach," he began.

"Junior…"

"This isn't your doing. I agreed. You aren't forcing me."

Coach finally turned to look at him. His eyes were full of tears. "Son, I, uh, if I could do it over again…"

Eric nodded. "I know, sir. And I know you didn't have a choice. Someone has to stay with Mama, and right now, she needs you more, and I need," he took a deep breath. "I need to help you out of this fine mess." Usually, a hug consisted of an arm over a shoulder, but they allowed arms around each other and a thump on the back. Coach clutched once more and then let go. Eric opened the car door, climbed out, reached into the back and pulled out his knapsack. Shouldering it, he said, "tell Mama I love her," and shut the door. He took a deep breath, said, "right," and walked away from the car. He didn't glance back as his father maneuvered it around and drove back to the highway. If he'd looked at his father, he'd have run after him.

The enormous, ornate gate reared before him. Rust peeked out between the clutch of vegetation. Wrote iron creatures writhed and gambled through the bars, creatures of myth, some frightening, others fantastic.

He placed his hand on the gate, pushed, but nothing happened. While he looked for a latch or a handle, he tried to remember what his father had told him. He didn't think he'd mentioned how it opened. Annoyance replaced his anxiety and fear. How the hell was he supposed to fulfill his end of the bargain if he couldn't get in? 

"Well, this is a fine how do you do," he muttered. "Nothing for it but to climb, I guess, although there's no way in hell Coach hoofed it over." As he looked for the ideal place to put his foot, out of the corner of his eye, one of the creatures on the gate moved. Backing away quickly, he tripped and nearly fell. He may have even screamed a little. The creature, looking a bit like a dragon, like that dragon in The Neverending Story, with a long whisker-like moustache, bushy eyebrows and an incredibly expressive face, considering the inflexibility of the iron.

"And who might you be, little bitty trespasser? This isn't the sort of place you should be trying to break in."

Eric blinked. What the actual fuck? "Uh…" 

"Come on, my man, what are you thinking? It isn't safe to come here. I really don't want to have to get all up in your space, but you really should turn around and high tail it." It almost looked as if smoke curled out of the dragon's mouth, and a pungent odour wafted in the air. 

"I, um, I'm Eric Bittle." He paused, remembering what Coach had told him to say. "I'm here to take the place of my father, Richard Bittle, who trespassed and dishonoured his host's courtesy by plucking a rose from his garden. He was told to return home and either come back himself in three weeks or send in his place the first living creature who greeted him. And that would be me."

"Ah, well, then little dude, you may enter, though I've gotta say that's pretty stone-cold of your father to send you instead of him."

Eric, exhausted, hungry, and scared, had just about had enough. "Look, I'm not getting into the why and the wherefore with an iron dragon who smells an awful lot like weed, so either let me in or don't. I'm tired of standing here and jawing at you."

The dragon chuckled. "Feisty little bugger, aren't you? Good, 'cause you're gonna need to be. Enter friend and remember to mind your manners with the Captain of the Haus."

As the gate swung open with a groan and a squeal, the dragon stilled and froze in place. Eric walked through and entered the grounds.

Cautiously making his way up an overgrown drive, he came upon an immense house. At first glance, it appeared stately and elegant, but the longer Eric stared at it, the more he saw the neglected. The gardens in front, which at one time must have been full of flowers and neat bushes, were overrun. Windows on the third and fourth floor held little more than slivers of glass. The trim desperately needed fresh paint. A fountain sat in the middle of a circular driveway. In it, many odd and ugly stone animals, their mouths open, waited to spew water into the large basin below them, but nothing came from the rusty pipes visible in their mouths. Even the sunshine felt dingy here and the air stale.

He walked up the stairs slowly, and as he approached, the front door swung open. No one stood behind it. Shoulders back, another deep breath, he entered the house of the Beast.

The foyer opened up, revealing a double staircase and a very dusty chandelier. Small marble tables and old vases filled with desiccated flowers hid in cobwebbed niches. Hallways were leading off on each side of the staircases. 

Eric dropped his knapsack to the floor. His mouth dry and his heart hammering, he called out:

"Hello? Is there anyone here?" He'd expected to be met, but it felt as if no one lived here. Hands-on his hips, he said, "I'm Eric Bittle. I'm here to take my father's place." Quiet pressed on his ears, so soft, not even the sounds of an old house settling. He shouted a hello again, and whispers bubbled up, overflowed and bounced off of the walls. Unclear and overlapping, they rose to a cacophony. Eric covered his ears and sank to his knees, overwhelmed. He crouched, shaking and tried to turn his head in the direction he thought they came from, but they seemed to be everywhere at once, rubbing on his skin, vibrating through his bones. Something plucked at his sleeve, and he gasped, "That's not very friendly. You could just say hello and introduce yourself." The voices stopped abruptly. He took a deep breath. "My father told me about your tricks, so you might as well show yourselves." The whispering started again, not as layered. He caught a word here and there. 

"Came…brave…believe…show…"

The air shimmered a little, and the voice of the dragon said to him, "No need to shout the house down, my bro. I heard you."

"Excuse me? You were the ones shouting," Eric said. "Look, I didn't want to break any more rules, but that's hard to do if no one tells me what they are."

"Yeah, it isn't easy for us to show if you know what I mean. We haven't had many visitors over the years, and we tend to lose some solidity on this plane of existence."

"I guess Coach did mention that."

Eric had the feeling the entity in front of him nodded. "Why don't I show you around," the entity said. "Just leave your bag there. It'll be taken care of. Follow me. Er, um, here, I'm gonna place my hand on your arm, if that's all right and guide you."

"Okay, I guess." A feeling of something touched his arm. There wasn't any warmth to it, just the sensation of weight, and with gentle nudges and tugs, it led Eric down the hall under the large staircase.

"This is the way to the kitchen and the main dining room. Always a good place to start if you ask me, seeing as food is the sweet, sweet necessity of life. Breakfast is promptly at eight am, not one microsecond later. Come early, but not late. The Captain is not, erm, patient, with tardiness. Lunch is at noon, and supper is served at six-thirty. Same rules, although if you miss lunch, you can grab a snack. He's not as much a stickler for that, seeing as he's usually busy. But do not, my son, if you value your hide, miss supper." They walked past the double doors of the dining room. This room was slightly better kept than the main entry. Eric had a quick glance inside before he was hustled off again. At the end of the hallway, they turned and walked into an enormous kitchen. It looked reasonably clean, although it could use some severe scrubbing in places. 

As he looked around, he gasped. A double oven and a huge gas range, a large walk-in freezer and the fridge beside it all took up most of one wall. He turned toward the double sink, and his mouth fell open. A potato hung in midair, bits of peel falling off into the sink and a peeler that appeared to be moving on its own.

The dragon voice chuckled. "Freaky, I know, but you'll get used to it. Follow me."

The dragon led Eric back the way they'd come and turned down the other hallway. "This is the way to the library—the finest collection of noble and dusty tomes this side of the border. The Captain will allow you to visit it. In fact, he will probably insist that you do."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Spill it, m' dude."

"What should I call you?"

"I didn't introduce myself? My bad. I'm Shitty."

"What?"

"Haha. My name is Shitty. We all have nicknames here. We're not allowed to say our real names. Part of living here. Although between you and me, my real name is way worse than my nickname. You'll meet more of the team as we go along."

Eric nodded bemusedly and tried not to think how odd it seemed that Shitty spoke of the ‘team’ and the owner of the house as ‘Captain’, like some weird sports metaphor.

Shitty stopped pulling on his arm as they stopped in front of a thick wooden door.

"You're gonna need to brace yourself a bit. It's time to meet the Captain. And, well, he might be a bit of a shock."

"My father said he was hard to look at."

"He's still pretty pissed about your father, so he, well, I guess you'll see, um, sort of. But hey, I'm here to help. The Captain talks to me, and I'm here to get him to chill."

Eric, who had begun to relax a little around the friendly entity, tensed again. 

The door opened, and Shitty tugged him through.

The incredibly dark room felt enormous. A fire burned low at one end, the embers glowing red, and it cast little light. The smell of dust lay heavy in the air. He knew there must be windows, but no light escaped the edges of curtains. Perhaps they'd been boarded up. Stepping across the threshold, his eyes slowly adjusted. Near the fire sat a considerably large chair, its back to the door. Shitty tugged him toward that chair, and Eric could sense, whether through the sound of breathing or the rustle of cloth, that someone sat in that chair. 

He did it want to approach. 

The someone who sat there growled low. It reverberated in Eric's eardrums. 

"Let me see the price of the foolish man's freedom."

Eric shuffled closer. Fear still held him, but underneath the fear, anger returned. 

"Excuse me, but I volunteered. My Daddy may have done wrong, and he may have made a mistake, but he isn't foolish. He's a good man, and he needed to take care of my Momma. 

The Someone grunted, "He must not love you as much as your mother."

Eric crossed his arms and straightened his back. "That isn't your concern. I'm here. He's not. I will pay for the cost of my father's mistake."

"Mistake? It was no mistake. He was welcomed here. Fed and protected from the storm at night. Shown hospitality and told he may wander the house and grounds but to behave responsibly." 

Eric stepped forward. "He wanted to bring a rose home to Mama. She's been sick, and he thought it would cheer her. He didn't know. Maybe you should put up some signs warning people. Makes me think you might have wanted him to do it."

Eric heard Shitty draw in a sharp breath.

The chair shifted, and the Someone stood up.

He expected something somewhat human, but the shape that rose from the chair held little of mortal man, and what was there was buried deep. Darkness and nothingness, a shroud of night-black void, appendages that could have been arms or legs moved and undulated, rose from the chair. The edges were blurred, and it moved the way water flowed. 

The only part that was remotely human could be discerned were two red eyes, burning like the embers in the grate. 

Eric felt the blood drain from his face, and there seemed to be an odd humming in his ears.

"If I did set a trap for your father, I would certainly have planned better than to have a mewling, puny human come in his stead. You are lucky I don't swallow you whole. I have done far less to others."

Eric felt the room spin as fear mounted, and it became impossibly darker as, for some strange reason, the floor rushed up to meet Eric's face.


	2. In Which Eric Bakes a Pie and Meets Someone in the Garden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I realized Master was majorly problematic and I changed it to Captain. I changed it in the last chapter as well added a line about how weird Bitty thought that they sounded like a hockey team.

Eric slowly awoke to the sound of voices.

"Holy hell, he's like those fainting goats." 

"He's also heavier than he looks. You know that goat shit's genetic?" 

"Yeah, yeah!  _ Mytonia congenita _ . I read about it in the library. You know, they don't even faint? It's more like a fucking ten-second seizure." 

"I couldn't deal with that." 

"Considering the fact that if you fainted, we'd be hard-pressed to find you sprawled out on the ground, what with the invisibility and all that." 

"I don't know. I'm pretty tall. Someone'd trip over me."

"M'not a goat," groaned Eric.

"Hey, little dude! You're coming around." 

"Wow, Rans, you're so observant."

"Fuck you."

"Maybe tonight. Pull back the covers so I can put him down."

Eric was gently placed on a comfortable bed, conscious enough that someone had removed his shoes.

He blinked his eyes open. Unsurprisingly, he couldn't see anyone standing there, but he could hear rustling and breathing.

Then someone took his wrist and felt his pulse. He jumped a little.

"Sorry. Just checking if you're okay. I'm going to look into your eyes if that's all right."

Eric nodded warily. Another touch and the person lifted one eyelid and then the other. 

"Your colour is better. How are you feeling?"

"Considering the day I've had? Fine, I guess."

"A little overwhelmed?"

"I wonder why," muttered Eric, who felt heartily embarrassed.

"Excellent," said the other person, "another smartass."

"I'm sure he'll fit in nicely with you and Shitty," said the first, drily.

"Hey, little dude, I'm Holster, and this is my bestie and life partner and significant other, Ransom. He knows doctor shit."

"I know some doctor shit," said Ransom.

"What are you going to tell  _ him? _ " asked Holster. 

"He should stay in bed. The Captain is just going to have to deal with it."

The sound of a low whistle. "He won't be happy."

A sigh. "Perhaps he shouldn't go all Big and Bad on a newcomer."

"You gonna tell him that?"

"Fuck no. That's Shitty's job."

"Excuse me. I know I'm new and whatnot, but do y'all mind not talking like I'm not here?"

"So sorry, Bitty," said Holster.

"Bitty?"

"Yeah. That's what Shitty named you on account of..."

"Don't say it."

...your size."

"Gee, thanks."

"No problem."

"Anyway," said Ransom, "you're to stay in bed. I'll get someone to bring you some supper. And you can try meeting the Captain tomorrow."

Nodding, Eric lay back against the pillows. He heard the sound of footsteps crossing the floor and the bedroom door opened and closed. 

Waiting a few minutes and listening hard, he slowly got out of bed. He felt a little dizzy but okay otherwise. He looked around the bedroom. Clean and neat, it appeared much nicer than most of the rest of the house. Besides the large bed, it held a dresser, an empty bookcase, a night table, and a desk, all made of wood. The window above the desk let in watery sunshine and overlooked the driveway and gate he'd come through. A small fireplace, much smaller than the one in the library, stood on the opposite wall from the bed. There were two other doors, besides the one to the hall. He opened one and found a small closet, empty except for some extra blankets and pillows on the top shelf. Crossing the room, he opened the last door to discover a small bathroom with a shower. 

His knapsack lay on top of the desk. He fetched it and brought it to the bed. He climbed back in the bed, opened the pack and took out a small, brown and well-loved, stuffed bunny. He sat and rubbed the worn ears, trying not to freak out. 

The sound of footsteps could be heard in the hallway, and the knob turned. He quickly stuffed the bunny under his pillow and pulled the blankets back up.

The door opened, and a tray floated into the room.

"Hello," said a new voice. "I'm Chowder. I brought you some, well, some chowder."

The tray came to the bed and stopped. Eric looked where he thought the face of this new person might be. If they had faces. Best not to think of that.

"Um, hello. I'm..."

"Bitty, yes, I know. Now that you're in the Haus, you have to have a nickname, and Shitty came up with..."

"Bitty, yes." Eric mentally rolled his eyes. Might as well accept it now. 

"I brought you some dinner. Like I said, it's chowder. And there are some nice rolls. Dex makes really good bread. And some orange juice, 'cause Rans said you should have some, even if it doesn't really go well with fish. And some water, 'cause Rans said, um, you get the point."

"Thank you."

"I'm sorry there's no dessert or anything. Captain doesn't like sweets, so we don't make them, and anyway, no one knows how."

Eric's eyebrows rose. Interesting. He took the tray and set it on his lap. Would it be polite to eat in front of an invisible someone?

"Oh, and there's a small bell on the tray if you want anything. Ring it when you're finished. Hmm, there was something else...what was it?"

The impression that he tapped his finger to his chin felt strong. 

"Oh! Yes! Gee, this  _ is _ important. Shitty told me to tell you not to leave your room at night."

"Is there a particular reason?"

"Um, yes, but I can't tell you. Okay, enjoy!" And before Eric could ask anything else, the person was gone.

He ate the hearty chowder, which turned out to be delicious; the rolls too, light and fresh, still warm with the butter all melty. He finished, drank the water, then the juice and felt immensely better.

Not wanting to be a bother, but not sure he wanted to try and find his way to the kitchens from here, he rang the little bell. 

He settled down to wait, but after a few minutes, nothing happened. Climbing out of bed, he took the tray and placed it on the desk. He then crept to the door and opened it as quietly as possible. He stuck his head out into the hall and looked up and down. Then rolled his eyes at himself because really? What could he see?

Barefoot, he crept out of the bedroom and shut the door. He oriented himself to the front of the house and walked down the hall in the staircases' direction. At least he felt reasonably sure they lay in that direction. Quiet lay thick there, thick as the dust in the nooks and on the window sills. He came to the main staircases and saw that more stairs led up to the third floor. He hesitated but decided to save that for another day. 

Down he went, down the right-hand staircase to the entrance hall. The light streamed in from the front windows and held a hinge of orange and told of the early evening sun. So not quite dark. No rules broken just yet. 

He found his bearings and made it back to the kitchen. Pushing the door open, he turned on the overhead lights. After a few moments of pause, listening hard, he could tell no one else inhabited the kitchen.

Exploring the room, he found the fridge full of nice things, including apples, butter and eggs. A search of the cupboards produced flour and sugar and the equipment needed in other cabinets and drawers. He turned on one of the ovens to heat it up and set to work. The quiet felt like another presence, so he hummed a little, mixing up pastry and then put it in the fridge. While it cooled, he peeled the apples.

He felt the most relaxed since his father had come home and told him his tale. He tried not to overthink about home because that would lead to more tears, more anxiety, and he felt he'd had enough of that today.

Once the apples were peeled, he sliced them and set them in a bowl. He sprinkled them with cinnamon and sugar, some ginger and nutmeg. The pastry was ready, so he rolled it out, placed it in the pie pan and trimmed the edges. The apple slices went in next, and he cut the remaining pastry into strips for the lattice. Before he knew it, the pie sat in the oven, and he washed up the utensils. 

After he dried the dishes, he put them back where he found them. While the pie baked, he had a better look around the kitchen. He'd noticed on his first visit there it seemed relatively clean but could still use some work. Eric knew he wasn't up to heavy cleaning, but he could start with sweeping the floor, so he did.

The timer on the oven dinged, and he took the pie out to cool on the counter. As it cooled, he finished sweeping and then cut the pie into pieces. He found some paper and left a note saying that the residents of the Haus could help themselves.

When he'd explored the kitchen earlier, he'd noticed a door at the far end of the kitchen, and he went to investigate.

The door, it turned out, led to the outside. He stepped out and found himself in a small kitchen garden: tomatoes and lettuce, carrots and broccoli, even herbs. A meandering stone path went between the sections. Pretty in its utilitarian way and everything, the house didn't seem to want to be; neat, tidy, and cared for. Aware the sun hung very low in the sky and night but a breath away, he thought he'd just go to the end of this path, up to the wall of hedges, return to the house and up to his room. Surely that would be okay.

The end of the path came to the hedges. A small arch broke the wall and led through to what appeared to be more gardens. Perhaps the rose gardens where Coach stole the rose. He thought one quick look couldn't hurt, and he'd come back tomorrow to explore it some more in the daylight. Through the arch, he went and came upon the most beautiful garden he'd ever seen. His father had told him about the rose garden, but Coach's words left out how beautiful and peaceful it was.

There were hundreds and hundreds of rose bushes and climbing roses on trellises. Of every colour, all in neat groupings, all in full bloom. The air redolent with the scent of roses.

Despite the coming night, he continued along the paths, amazed at what he saw. Throughout the pathways were small garden lights and every now and then a fountain, in much better shape than the sad one at the front of the house. The garden held not only roses but many different types of flowers and some trees in bloom. And oddly, it didn't seem to matter the season. Here a flowering crab apple, there a small planting of miniature sunflowers.

Wonderstruck, he sat on a bench and looked around him, drinking in the scent of the flowers. The sleepy sounds of birds going to bed began to be replaced with the sound of night insects. A bat or two flew overhead, and the rustle of some creature in the hedge caught his ear.

A feeling of contentment and peace settled in his chest, and even though he knew he needed to get up and go back to his room, he wanted just five more minutes.

Then a new sound came to his ears; footsteps on the path were coming his way.

His stomach flipped with nerves, but hopefully, it would just be Shitty or one of the others. And please, not the Beast. 

"No point meeting the Beast or one of these invisible people sitting down," he said under his breath as he got to his feet. 

The light, almost gone, and the glow from the garden lamps was just enough for him to make out a large shape coming toward him. The Beast. It had to be. He almost closed his eyes and braced for the roar of anger when he saw it was a young man.

Taller than Eric, and broader in the shoulders, he had dark hair. He wore a white t-shirt and jeans, and his feet, like Eric's, were bare.

When he saw Eric standing there, he stopped short and looked warily at him.

"Hello," said Eric, unable to keep the surprise and friendliness out of his voice, for here stood another flesh and blood human. Pleasure at seeing someone else coursed through him and took his breath away.

"Euh, hello," said the man. "Um, you can see me?"

"Shouldn't I be able to?"

"No, no, you shouldn't." The man looked a little panicky. He flailed about for a minute, flapping his hands. "Um, you're not supposed to be here. You're not supposed to be out at night. It's, it's not safe."

"I was just heading back in, but can you tell me why I can see you?"

The other man shook his head, his hand on the back of his neck. "No, no, I can't."

"Do you live here?"

Even in the low light, Eric could see his eyes widen. It felt forever before he answered. "Yes. I, I guess you could say I tend the gardens."

"They're absolutely beautiful. I've never seen anything like them. You must work in here all of the time."

"Thank you. I try my best. It's one of the few things that gives me any peace."

Intense curiosity drove all sense of manners out of Eric's head. "What's your name?"

The man looked around nervously, hesitated and said, almost in a whisper, "Jack."

"It's very nice to meet you, Jack. I can't imagine you get to chat with many people who are visible either. I mean, they all seem friendly, I guess, almost everyone. They were all very kind to me when I passed out. Oh dear, excuse me, I'm rambling a bit. It's been an extraordinarily long day. I should probably get back into the house. Do you think I'll see you again?"

There was a long pause. Jack continued to stare at Eric as if he couldn't believe he stood there. "I don't know. I only come to the garden at night. And you shouldn't be out of your room. In fact, you really need to go now. It isn't safe." 

"I will. I hope you don't get in trouble for talking to me."

"Me too," said Jack.

"Well, good night then."

"Good night."

Eric started to walk away when he turned back. Jack stood there, watching him, a very bemused expression on his face. "Before I forget, I made a pie. Help yourself to a piece."

"Pie? Did you make pie? You shouldn't have done that. I, uh, the Captain thinks sweets are not healthy, and he forbids that sort of thing."

Eric sighed. "Well, he's never tried mine. Maybe it will make him less cranky. Anyway, night again."

"Night, Eric, sleep well."

Eric found his way to the kitchen and back to his room without running into anyone or anything. When he got there, his tray had been removed.

Standing in front of the window, he wished his room looked out onto the garden instead of the house's front. It was completely dark out now. 

Tired from such a strenuous day, the hour must be late. He didn't have any books in his room and nothing else to do, so he pulled out his pyjamas and toiletry bag. After changing, he brushed his teeth, washed his face and crawled under the covers. He closed his eyes and almost immediately could feel himself slipping under. And then, just as he began to drift off, a thought woke him.

Jack 

had called him Eric. He frowned. Had he introduced himself? Pretty sure he hadn't. His Mama would have scolded him for that if she'd known.

And then another thought. Why had he been able to see Jack? That definitely didn't fit with everything he knew about this place, both from his own observations and what Coach said.

His last thought before sleep chased him down into his dreams.

"Huh, everyone else calls me Bitty. Weird."


	3. In Which Eric Brings the Cookies

The next morning, weak morning sun shone through his window and woke Eric at about the same time as the knocking on his door. The light seemed brighter than yesterday, even if it was just over the horizon. It was much earlier than he liked.

"What?" He muffle-shouted.

"Hey, Bitty Boy! Rise and shine! I wanted you up and moving so you can meet the Captain for breakfast. Wouldn't want to be late."

"Fiiine." He closed his eyes for just a minute, just one more minute.

More knocking. "I know you're not out of bed."

"I'm up. I'm up." He sat up, stretched and yawned. "What time is it anyway?"

"It is seven-thirty. You gotta be in the dining room at eight."

"Give me a few minutes."

Eric sat up and rubbed his eyes. He swung his legs out of bed and stood up to stumble into the bathroom, where he splashed his face with water. He'd like a shower, but he didn't have the time.

He dug into his backpack and pulled out clean underwear and a shirt. His jeans from yesterday would do. He'd have to remember to ask Shitty about laundry and if they had a washing machine since no one seem to wear clothes. Or at least what if they were, but they were invisible?

Too early. Needed caffeine.

Then he remembered Jack. Jack wore clothes. They must have something.

After he dressed, he opened his bedroom door. He didn't know how he knew, but he could tell Shitty stood there. Or floated. Or something.

Might as well be polite.

"Good morning," Eric said.

"Morning, little buddy. I hope you slept well and are mentally prepared to meet the Captain." There seemed to be a hint of concern, maybe even caring in Shitty's tone.

"I guess. I mean, I'll have to face him at some point."

"That you will. Now let's make like a tree and leaf."

"That's terrible."

"Why thank you! I'm here all week." Eric rolled his eyes but smiled as they walked down the hall toward the main staircases.

As soon as he entered, he saw the Captain sitting at the head of the table. His stomach jumped a bit from nerves.

The curtains drawn against the light of the morning gave a fusty air to the room. A rather ridiculously large chandelier shone down over the table, but the amorphous shape at the head of the table seemed to swallow what little light there was.

"Come in, Eric, "said the cold voice of the Captain. "I hope you slept well." A pause and hesitancy in the rough voice. "I must apologize for what happened yesterday. I did not intend to frighten you so much that you fainted. However, you need to be aware that the rules of my house must be followed to the letter. I will not tolerate it otherwise."

Although the Captain had apologized, Eric's back was up, and he crossed his arms. His Mama always told him his stubbornness would lead him into trouble someday.

"I accept your apology. I will do what you ask to the best of my ability, but I do not like being held captive in your house."

There must be others in the room beside Shitty, for there was an intake of many breaths.

"Silence," the Captain said to the murmuring voices. The smouldering eyes bore into Eric. "I understand your desires in this." The rough voice became quieter. "I understand the pain it must cause you to lose your freedom this way. I understand it all too well."

The Captain stood and held out a chair for Eric, not right beside him, but about halfway down the long table. He then went back to his place and sat. "Let us start from the beginning, and while I do not expect you to be friends with me, perhaps we can start by being acquaintances."

Eric narrowed his eyes, but with a shrug, sat, the anger burning in his chest drove away any fear he might still have. The Captain acted just like all the bullies from school.

An awkward silence followed, and then the Captain said, in a relatively neutral tone, "I hope you enjoy the breakfast this morning. My tastes tend to be simple, but I thought you would like to start with a hearty breakfast until the kitchen bros get an idea of what you prefer to eat."

Startled out of his self-imposed silence, Eric said, "Excuse me, did you say, kitchen bros?"

"Did I? Hmm. I meant staff."

Eric blinked.

The Captain rang a little bell similar to the one Chowder had left with him last night. The far doors opened, and what must have been several entities entered carrying many trays.

A variety of plates with different kinds of eggs, toast, a dish of sliced fruit and a bowl of plain yogurt landed near Eric. Oatmeal was next and a platter of sausages and bacon.

It all smelled wonderful. Despite the Captain's odd flowing body and the nervous flutter in Eric's stomach, he was hungry.

He helped himself to some oatmeal, spooning it in the bowl before him and added some fresh fruit. He found the creamer and add a splash, and began to eat.

Coffee came around and tea. Neither spoke, but Eric could feel those molten eyes following his movements and watching him eat.

Just as he finished his oatmeal, the Captain scooped a large helping of scrambled eggs and two pieces of bacon onto the plate beside him.

Eric looked at the plate and then at the Captain.

"You need more protein."

Pursing his lips together, he looked back at the plate and folded his arms.

"Seriously?"

The Captain shrugged.

Eric flung up his hands. "Fine, but you do not get to dictate what I eat or how much. That's just weird."

An odd noise came from the Captain's end of the table, and it took Eric a minute to recognize it.

A chuckle.

Not a full, joyous chuckle, but definitely with odd, hollow humour.

Eric raised an eyebrow and ate the eggs and bacon. They were delicious.

After finishing, Eric wasn't sure what should happen now. He wanted to explore the house and go out to the garden. He wanted to know if he could bake some more. He wanted to ask about the laundry.

The Captain sat back. "You have questions."

Eric nodded.

"Ask."

Clearing his throat, Eric asked. "Am I allowed to explore the house and the gardens?"

"You may go anywhere in the house and the gardens, except for the third floor. The third floor is my private quarters. The garden is there for you to enjoy and if you wish you may spend as much time as you want. I find the gardens very peaceful."

A pause. "But you must not be out there after dark." A hint of a growl tinged the Captain's voice. "Like you did last night."

Eric stared and said nothing.

"What other questions do you have?"

"Am I allowed to use the kitchen?"

"You didn't feel the need to ask last night."

Eric threw up his hands in frustration. "Yes, well, maybe if you hadn't yelled at me and scared the bejesus out of me, I would have asked permission."

There was another low growl.

"Look," Eric said. "I don't have to like being here, and you can throw me in the basement or the dungeons or whatever. I want to find something to do, and one of the things I do is bake." He felt tears spring up, and that just made him angrier. "I'm a darn good baker. I can at least help out by feeding y'all. It's better than moping in my room."

Not knowing how he knew, he could tell the Captain frowned. In a much quieter and almost gentle voice, the Captain said, "I do not intend on locking you in the basement or your room. We do not have dungeons. I would like you to be, euh, happy, I guess. Or as happy as you can be. Please feel free to use the kitchen and cook what you want. I have a large enough staff that they will eat what you make."

Eric nodded, tight and terse.

"I would also encourage you to come to the library. I know you do not wish to spend time with me, but there are many books to read, and I'm there most of the day. It would...please me, to have your company."

Eric stared for a long moment, and then reluctantly nodded again. "Do you have to keep it so dark in there?"

"No. But the light is hard to bear. Perhaps I can let some light in at one end. It's a rather large room."

Before Eric could ask anything else, the Captain stood. "If you have no more questions, it is getting late, and I have work to do in the library."

Eric cleared his throat. "Is there someplace to do laundry? I didn't bring a whole closet full of clothes, and I'll need to do some washing at some point.'

"Shitty can show you where the laundry room is. Now I must leave."

Eric stared at the Captain's retreating back and then helped to clear the table.

"You don't have to do that," said a new voice.

"I don't mind. What's your name?"

"I'm Dex," said the voice with surprise that Eric would ask.

"Hi, Dex. Your rolls were perfect last night. Thank you."

"Sure, uh, you're welcome. Your pie was amazing. Do you think you could teach me?"

Eric smiled and felt less chaotic. "There's nothing I'd like more. What time works for you?"

"Uh, maybe this afternoon? You should probably do other things while we clean up."

Eric nodded, wondering at the reluctance but thinking about the Captain, he felt the staff must be fairly cowed by his anger.

Eric helped take the dishes into the kitchen and then left through the back door to spend some time in the gardens. The sun definitely shone brighter than yesterday, and the air felt warmer.

He wandered around, his eyes peeled for signs of Jack, but he seemed to be alone. The garden was just as wonderful as it had been last night, and as he walked down the different paths, he noticed the many birds and insects. A warm breeze ruffled his hair as he sat in the sun and tried not to think about his parents.

When he felt more composed, and his stomach began to rumble, he made his way back to the house. Remembering what Shitty had said about lunch, he sat in the kitchen and ate a sandwich, chatting with Dex and Chowder, mostly about inconsequential things. He found out the laundry room was just off of the kitchen.

After lunch, he jogged up to his room and took his phone out of his backpack. He checked, and there was no signal here. He hadn't expected one. He sighed, took out his portable speakers and his apron and ran back to the kitchen.

In the kitchen, a flurry of objects flew around as invisible hands tidied up from lunch and some prepared things that might be for supper. Eric stood in the doorway to watch for a moment and then stepped in, not sure at first where he should go and what he should do.

There seemed to be a rhythm to the movements as he stepped around the flying dishes and food containers. A quiet spot and some free counter space near the back, he plugged in his speakers and then started searching through his phone for suitable baking music.

After a moment, the kitchen quieted, and Eric looked up.

"Um, hello. I was going to make some pies and cookies if that's all right with y'all."

"S'wasome," said a voice he was sure was Chowder.

"Can I ask who all is here?"

"Hi, Bitty! It's Chowder."

"Hi! Dex here."

"I'm Nursey. We haven't met yet, but that was some s'wasome pie you made last night."

No one else said anything, so he assumed there were no other people.

'Well, hello. It's nice to meet you. Who wants to help?"

The three voices all said yes.

"Excellent. Well then, what we need is some baking music." He plugged in his phone, and the sound of music came out and filled the kitchen.

_All the single ladies (All the single ladies)  
All the single ladies (All the single ladies)  
All the single ladies (All the single ladies)  
All the single ladies  
Now put your hands up_

Soon he had the three staff members peeling and chopping fruit and prepping baking tins. Dex, who had the most experience with cooking, was given instructions on how to mix pastry. The whole time, Eric swung his hips and danced to the music, joy in his heart.

They worked away with goodwill as the music from Eric's phone cycled through his playlist.

The smell of baking pie and cookies filled the air, and once everything went into the ovens, Eric helped tidy.

The door to the kitchen swung open, and Shitty's voice called out, "Hey, Bitty Baby. The Captain has asked if you'd come to the library to see what's there."

"Just let me get these cookies on some racks. No one touch the pies. They're for dessert, but help yourself to these cookies."

Eric took off his apron, found a hook to hang it on, plated some cookies and went to the library, which was still as dark as it had been yesterday.

Eric walked to the chair the Captain sat in and placed the plate of cookies on the table nearest.

A rumble came from the Captain's chest. "What are those?"

"Chocolate chip cookies. Thought you might like some. oh, and there are pecans in 'em, you know, for protein." Eric smirked.

Red molten eyes flickered toward him, and there was that odd chuckle again. The Captain stood and motioned Eric to follow him to the back half of the library, where a set of four steps led to an alcove. The Captain pointed.

"Here is a place you can sit and read if you wish. When I have returned to my chair, you may open the curtains. Behind them is a window seat, and the sun shines on this part of the Haus most of the day."

Eric waited until the Captain had sat back in his chair and carefully pulled back the curtains. A long window seat, piled with faded cushions lay behind, just as the Captain had said.

Eric looked around at nearby shelves and grabbed a couple of books.

He sat in the window until it was time for supper, not reading just sitting, his thoughts straying to the figure in the chair.

When Shitty came in to announce supper, Eric put the books back where he found them, closed the curtains and followed the Captain to the dining room.

Supper was similar to breakfast, with Eric sitting in the same spot at the table. The surprise this time seemed to be that the others were also there for supper.

The food was as good as it had been last night and this morning, and the conversation as dull.

After supper, someone, likely Dex, served the pie. The Captain appeared to be staring at the plate, and then Eric, who was eating his pie, felt eyes upon him.

"I would think that having cookies this afternoon would be enough of a sugary treat for one day."

"Would you now," said Eric, eating his pie enthusiastically.

"I don't eat a lot of desserts."

"Maybe you should."

A growl. "This is not healthy."

"Nope, but it is tasty."

A sigh.

And then the sound of a fork on the china and Eric grinned smugly to himself.

After the staff cleared away the plates, the Captain stood, looking down at Eric. "That was...fine."

"Fine? I'll have you know, Mr. Captain, sir, I have won a blue ribbon at our local fair for pie for the last three years."

"How interesting," said the Captain, sounding anything but interested. "I'm going to retire to the library. When it is dark, you must return to your rooms. DO not wander the gardens again this evening."

"What about Jack? Why does he get to?"

The Captain turned abruptly and roared at Eric. "Do not mention that name ever again. Do you understand me?"

Eric stood, fear returning to roost in his chest. He ran out and up the stairs, reached his room and slammed the door behind him. He leaned back against the door, slid down and put his head in his hands.

He needed to find a way to leave this awful, awful place.


	4. In Which Eric Reads Some Books

Eric tossed and turned and could not find a comfortable position on the bed. The moon shone brightly through the window on his face. He sighed, gave up fighting and turned on the lamp beside the bed.

_Maybe listening to music would help_. He searched the bedside table, but the phone was nowhere to be found. 

Biting his lip, he tried to remember when he had it last. He must have left it in the kitchen. 

_Shit._

He thought for a second and then swung his feet out of bed. Fuck it all if the stupid Captain tried to stop him from listening to music. If he wanted Eric to stay in his room at night, he'd have to lock him in. 

The moonlight guided his feet as he padded barefoot through the halls and down the stairs. The hum of the refrigerator broke the quiet of the kitchen. Leaving the light off so he wouldn't signal his illicit nighttime travels, he walked to the back counter. His phone and the speakers were still there. He took the phone and left the speakers in case he decided to bake again.

Phone clutched in his hand, he turned to go when something caught his eye. The door to the garden stood ajar.

Feeling rebellious and defiant, he walked cautiously to the door and slowly opened it the rest of the way. The night air felt pleasantly warm, and the garden gleamed, bathed in the light of the moon. The hum of the fridge was replaced with the croak of frogs and the chirp of insects.

The kitchen garden thought of the early morning hours, and the plants there held dew on outstretched leaves.

Walking through the opening in the hedge and into the night garden calmed his bereaved soul.

The smell of roses wafted up stronger than his previous trip. The path felt cool on his bare feet. He heard the musical tinkle of the many fountains as he wandered around, breath slow and deep until he came to the same bench as before.

Sitting, he looked up at the night sky. The stars were so incredibly bright; he could almost make out the path of the Milky Way. He sighed, and tears pricked his eyes. A breeze tickled his hair, and a drowsy feeling stole over him. Perhaps now he could make his way back to bed and fall asleep.

Before he could get up, he heard whistling and the soft pad of another's bare feet.

A tall figure came into view. The light from the moon turned the dark hair silver and played on his pale skin.

"Jack? I was wondering if I'd see you again." Warmth bloomed in Eric's chest to see his familiar face.

"Eric? What are you doing here?” He looked around as if expecting the Beast to come roaring out of the shrubbery. "You're not supposed to be here. I, uh, I heard you got yelled at again."

Eric swallowed. His stomach fluttered uncomfortably. "Well, yes. I did. He did. I couldn't sleep, and the kitchen door was open, and the night seemed to want my company. I'll go now, I guess. It's just. It's just nice to talk to a real person."

Jack spoke to the ground. "You're not happy, are you?"

"Uh, no. Why would I be." It wasn't a question.

Jack sighed, and it looked like he raised his eyes to the sky. He shrugged and asked, “May I sit?’ At Eric’s nod, he sat beside him.

Eric waited with considerable patience for Jack to speak. Finally, "You must understand. You must know that this situation is not of the Captain's doing."

Eric frowned. "No?'

Another sigh, heavy and full of thought. "No. There's not much I can say or tell you. You need to figure out some of it on your own, and some of it needs to be revealed. For me to tell you outright, well, even me saying that is too much."

Eric waited again.

"What I can tell you is that the Captain is, um. Not himself. He is, how can I put it?" He thought for a minute. "He is a manifestation of emotions and fears."

Eric bit his lip. "But how does that make it, okay keeping me here? Not letting me see or even talk to my parents? I mean, the others have been nice and helpful, but I can't see them, and I don't know if they're there. I can't even hug anyone."

Eric felt Jack's eyes on him. There had been an intake of breath when Eric had mentioned his parents.

After a quiet moment, Jack said, "Have you asked the Captain if you can speak to your family? He doesn't always think much beyond these walls. And the outside world has grown impossibly far and out of reach."

"Can you tell me how the Captain got, uh, got like that?'

"No," Jack said softly. 

Eric threw up his hands. "This just isn't fair!"

"No. No, it's not. But no one is ever promised a fair life."

"What kind of stupid saying is that?" 

With a low chuckle, Jack said, "My mother used to say that to me. 'I never promised you life would be fair.' And maybe fair isn't the right thing anyway. Perhaps it's more like things happen and you have to deal with them as best you can."

"What about you? Are you dealing with this? Aren't you trapped here, too? Do you feel like this is how it's supposed to be? And the others? All invisible. Held here against their will, too, I bet."

Jack paused for such a long time. Eric felt sure he wouldn't speak. "I can't say much about my situation or why I am here. I can say it was mostly my own doing and not dealing with things I should have."

"Yes, well, I didn't get a choice," Eric muttered.

"Didn't you? Why are you here, Eric?"

Eric stared. "Well, I uh, I traded places with my father so he could stay with my mother. She's sick and needed my father. I was more expendable, I guess."

"No one is expendable." Jack rubbed at his neck. "Let me put it this way. Maybe there's a reason for you to be here. You chose to come in your father's place, but maybe that's because there's something you can do your father couldn't. Maybe you can do something good." As he finished, he shuddered slightly, and Eric could see he clutched at his head. "I think I've said too much. Euh, listen. You'd better go back, but before you do, let me give you some advice. First of all, see the Captain tomorrow and tell him you wish to speak to your parents. He can arrange that."

"Okay, but he'll probably yell."

"I don't think so. I think, uh, I think you actually ground him somewhat. And it's good for him to be challenged."

"And?"

"And what?"

"You said first of all."

"Oh." Jack looked at the ground again. Eric could see him take a deep breath as if to steel himself. "Do not come into the garden at night again. No matter what. No matter how much you want to."

"Why, Jack? Why can't I come out at night? Why does the Captain hate you?"

Jack looked up at him in surprise. "The Captain doesn't hate me. Or at least not the way you think." He stood, placed his hand on Eric's shoulder and gave him a shake. "Please. For me. Don't come back here at night."

Tears threatened in Eric's eyes again. "But I won't see you." He protested. "It's lonely, and you're a friendly face."

Jack looked very earnest as he said. "But it's not safe, and it's not allowed." He shook his head. "You will get home much faster if you follow the rules.'

Eric wiped his eyes. "Okay. I don't understand, but okay."

He stood and turned to go but looked back at Jack standing there, watching him leave. "Do you like pie, Jack?"

The moon shone bright enough for Eric to see Jack smile, but he heard it in his voice as well. "Yes, Eric. I like pie. Your pie, especially. I, uh, had some. Last night."

Eric nodded, his voice too full of tears to speak, and he ran back to the kitchen and up to his room.

The next day at breakfast, nervous and shaky, he asked the Captain if he could phone his parents.

The Captain sat back in his chair. Eric could tell he gave it serious thought.

In his low growl, he said, "You miss them."

And although Eric tried to stay calm and although Eric knew yelling and arguing with the Captain would not necessarily be right, Eric Had Had Enough.

He pushed back from the table and marched closer to the Captain's chair, closer than he had been since the first day. He trembled but not with fear. He'd never been so angry in his life.

"Yes! I miss my parents. I miss them so much it hurts. In my chest. Where my heart is. That organ you seem to be lacking. My mother is sick, and my father is probably feeling like shit because I'm here and he's not. What you want from me and why I am here, I have no fucking clue. But I agreed to stay here because that's the right thing to do. But if I'm not going to go completely around the bend, you're going to let me call my parents and stop yelling at me and being so damn grouchy!"

Eric wiped at his eyes, tears of frustration and humiliation and hurt.

A rumbling sigh came from the Beast.

"I apologize. I know this is difficult for you, and it is not what you want. I will arrange for you to be able to speak to your parents whenever you wish."

Eric gulped and began to open his mouth, but the Captain continued, "The last person to come to the Haus was your father. Before that. Before that, it was many years ago, and it did not end well. I don't always think much beyond these walls. The outside world moved away from me, and I forget there are important things beyond this place."

With an almost audible snap, Eric's mouth shut. Looking extremely puzzled, he stammered, "Have...did...Jack said that to me last night."

There was a long silence. "He understands me better than I do myself. And, well. It's true." Another rumble. "I will try to be a better host." A pause. "Maybe someday a better friend."

Eric left soon after, confused and heart sore. He went up to his room for a while and sat on the bed.

They would never, ever be friends.

Later in the day, Shitty showed him the landline, and he phoned his parents. After tears and reassurances on his end and more on theirs, he asked, and his mother told him her health had improved. They spoke of inconsequential things after; just enjoying the comfort of knowing the other was still alive and whole in body if not spirit. Neither spoke about when Eric would be coming home.

Then Eric went to the kitchen and, with Chowder, Dex and Nursey, made pie, and he gave them a hand with supper as well. 

A more genial atmosphere pervaded the supper table. The Captain asked in a gentler tone if the conversation with his family went well. Eric answered politely that it had.

After, Eric wrapped up a piece of pie, labelled it _For Jack_ , added _ERB_ and a heart and snuck out to the kitchen garden. He placed it on a stool near the door and hoped no wild animals got to it first.

Before heading for bed, he stopped in the library for something to read. The Captain sat in his chair beside the fire. He glanced up from whatever he had been reading. He said, "There's a section over there," he pointed near to where Eric had sat yesterday, "of cookbooks, including some interesting nonfiction on the history of cooking and food."

"You have cookbooks?"

"Mostly, I have books about history. Plus, a lot of fiction."

"Oh," Eric said, not sure what else to say.

The Captain got out of his chair and flowed over to where Eric stood, but not too close. "Here are the books on food and nutrition. If you prefer to read fiction, they are all along this wall. If there is something you wish to read, let me know, and I will find it. I will most likely have any book you wish for."

"You enjoy reading."

The molten eyes looked at him for a long moment. "I do. It is one of the few pleasures I am afforded."

With a start, Eric thought about how the Captain's freedom might be as limited as his, something that had been hinted at but not said outright. Feeling somewhat annoyed, he glowered at the floor. It made it a lot more difficult to remain angry with the Captain. The last thing he wanted was to feel sorry for him. 

If he couldn't feel upset for the Captain, he could try to be polite. Making the monster angry would perhaps take his phone privileges away. He would never be grateful to the Captain, and he didn't want to be friends but being angry and upset all of the time left him drained. Besides, if he pretended to be interested, the Beast would let down his guard some more. He said, "I have a hard time reading. I mean, I'm a good reader. I have a hard time concentrating."

"Sometimes, I am the same. Sometimes there is too much," he waved at his head, "up here. Sometimes the words aren't enough."

Eric nodded slowly. Stepping forward, he went to the shelves and perused them, unsure what he was looking for. He decided to take a few different books to see if something caught his attention, grabbed a couple the way he had yesterday, not really caring. Then he went to the food section and took a cookbook about milk throughout history and another on the spice trade.

"I would be interested to hear your thoughts if you get a chance to read them. "

Eric stared, blinked and said, "uh. Sure. I guess." He then said good night and went up to his room. 

He took a shower and got into his pyjamas. He climbed into bed and opened the book on the spice trade. 

It was the first night in the Haus he stayed in his room.

The days that followed went much the same. As the weeks that came after. Wake up early, get dressed, have breakfast. Then spend time in the kitchen and the garden. Eat lunch with the kitchen staff, perhaps seek out Shitty or Ransom and Holster. They showed him a small room on the second floor with a large table and a good selection of board games. Rans and Holster were avid game players. It would always be odd to watch game pieces seem to move by themselves. 

Sometimes he met one of the invisible people in the garden, and they would run together down the winding paths, exercise an outlet for his frustrations. 

He tried to spend some time each day in the library, visiting with the Captain, either after lunch or supper.

What annoyed him the most, on those days when the Captain sat and talked to him about books or the garden or what he had been doing with his time, he found himself laughing occasionally or coming out of the library having felt good about making intelligent conversation.

He did not want to be friends with the Captain, who refused to let him go home. After, on those days, he would go out to the garden if night hadn't fallen and sit and try not to be sad that Jack never turned up.

Every night he left a plate of dessert and a note for Jack.

Every morning the plate had a note on it thanking him.

One day, Eric had just finished a book on the history of cookbooks. He sat near the fire, discussing it with the Captain.

For his part, the Captain sat relatively quiet, listening to Eric ramble on about different ways people had recorded and passed along recipes.

"Do you have many recipes you know by heart?” He asked. 

"Sure! Pastry is the one thing I don't even have to think about, I can make it in my sleep.” He cocked his head to the side. “There are a few others."

"I had never given much thought to cooking before you came. Would you be interested in teaching me someday? How to cook?"

Eric stared. "You want to know how to cook?"

"Perhaps."

"Okay. I guess I could do that."

"Thank you. It is getting late. Perhaps you should go to bed."

Eric left the library and went back to his room.

_Ugh_ , he thought. He did not want to show the Captain how to cook.


End file.
